


no scope

by lionsenpai



Series: unmade [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Post-Recall, Pre-Overwatch, if that makes sense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-10-03
Packaged: 2018-08-11 15:17:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7897693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lionsenpai/pseuds/lionsenpai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lack of vision or insight ruins a shot. Fareeha's firing in the dark, and Widowmaker is hard to hit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> time to start ANOTHER longfic series for one of my shitty rarepairs. as usual, it started innocently enough and then suddenly gained a plot. rip,,,..

Numbani gleamed in the midday sun, Fareeha’s visor catching the glare as she touched down on one of the city’s many crowded rooftops. She lifted her hand to her brow, spying six other figures leaping between buildings, her jaw taut as she watched the payload advance. The winding streets were empty save their short convoy, and the city itself seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the last remnants of the ANUBIS code to reach its destination and be destroyed for good.

An easy job, completely unchallenged. Which was exactly the problem.

“Area 3, clear. Amari? You see something over there?”

Fareeha straightened, eyes snapping to the black figure of Captain Nassar’s Raptora touching down on an adjacent building. Though the distance between them and both their visors shouldn't have allowed it, Fareeha could feel the weight of the other woman's expectant stare. Lifting her wrist-comm, she noted that her commanding officer had contacted her through a private channel, not the one the squad used. Frowning, Fareeha answered, “Nothing.”

The response came swiftly: “Then quit day-dreaming and keep looking. Helix has already said this is our last, best chance before the contracts run out.”

The reminder was nettles beneath her skin. Jumping, Fareeha’s thrusters pushed her high above the city, her eyes scanning the rooftops and streets below for any sign of trouble. Unsurprisingly, it was only the rest of her squad and the payload below, crawling along the assigned route at a snail’s pace as her team cleared the areas ahead of it.

Gravity took hold of her at the peak of her jump, and Fareeha angled herself toward the rooftop where Captain Nassar still stood. Engaging her thrusters at the last moment, she touched down gracefully, but Captain Nassar was already closing in with quick strides.

Unlike the rest of their squad, Captain Nassar's rank was evident in the dark material of her suit. Instead of brazen blue, Captain Nassar's Raptora was black as night, the helmet taking on a different design. While Fareeha's Raptora summoned the image of eagles in flight, Captain Nassar's conjured visions of the jackal, the two prongs rising from it likened to perked ears. From beneath the stern brow and fang jaw of what was surely supposed to be Anubis, Fareeha observed the tug of agitation at her commander's thin lips.

Slowing to a halt, the captain huffed, “I didn’t tell you to focus so you could come over here and distract both of us.”

Even with her usual brusque manner, Captain Nassar was verging on true hostility, her fingers flexing on the grip of her rocket launcher.

Fareeha didn’t cow to her tone like some of the younger members of the squad might have. They arched through the air some ways off, dutifully following the payload, and Fareeha watched them for a moment, wistful. Then she cleared her throat and said, “If Talon doesn’t show, it won’t matter.”

It was the proverbial elephant in the room, and had been ever since they'd set off from Cairo, unspoken but hanging over both their heads. Now that they were closing in on the end of their mission, it pricked at their necks like an executioner's knife, ready and waiting.

Captain Nassar left her rocket launcher drop to her hip, reaching up to wipe at her face beneath the visor. The jackal's head tilted back, and Fareeha caught the glimpse of bruise-like shadows beneath her dark eyes, sweat beading on her brown skin. A hint of the black fabric of her hijab was just barely visible.

Sighing, Captain Nassar said, “You think I don’t know that? I’ve been praying for the sound of gunshots since we got out here. If we don’t get someone to prove ourselves against, we might as well pack it up and kiss Helix goodbye. Fucking Overwatch.”

Only two months after Overwatch’s unexpected revival, and the group was already taking the globe by storm. Perhaps the time had done wonders to soothe the public’s perception of them, leaving only the image of heroes from The Good Ol’ Days. Perhaps the new line-up had charmed, the older, controversial members nowhere to be seen. Whatever the cause, with the group’s reinstallation, the only thing left to Helix was scraps, and even those were beginning to grow scarce.

No one wanted a regular security firm, not when they could be employing the legendary Overwatch.

A muttered curse from Captain Nassar was the only warning before she glanced up at Fareeha, her mouth pulling into a deep frown. “Not your mother. She was something different. Just - the rest of them.”

Fareeha's tone was flat. “You don't need to remind me.”

Captain Nassar hesitated to pull her helmet back down for a moment, eyeing Fareeha as if she were debating whether or not to say more. Eventually, Captain Nassar gave a long exhale and knocked her knuckles against the Raptora’s breastplate, steering the conversation elsewhere. “Well, maybe they’ll buy out the Raptora program from Helix to keep us in business. I can’t stand to see this thing go.”

Grimacing, Fareeha said, “I’d rather stay with Helix.”

“You? Amari, I thought you’d been just waiting for the chance to defect. I heard about that visit from their doctor. You didn't sign on?”

“No.” The answer was firm, clipped enough that Fareeha could feel Captain Nassar’s curious stare. Instead of answering the question that burned in that look, she turned her eyes on the squad, growing steadily farther away. “The payload has reached the checkpoint.”

Captain Nassar clicked her tongue. “Well, if we’re to stay with Helix, here’s to hoping we get some action soon. We’ve got about twenty minutes before the ANUBIS code is secure and on its way to a proper death. Come on, Amari. Might as well be present for it, though I doubt it's going to suffer like it ought to.”

Launching from the rooftop in a blast that left Fareeha’s ears ringing, Captain Nassar took off in pursuit of the payload, her voice filtering through the open channel and demanding updates. As replies flooded in one after another, Fareeha lingered on the rooftop, mostly to give the Captain her airspace and reduce the risk of a midair collision. The rest… Well, her thoughts cycled, their conversation replaying: _maybe they’ll buy out the Raptora program_.

Chewing her lip, Fareeha hefted her rocket launcher to hold it in both hands and jumped - but before she had even reached the height of her jump, she heard the resounding fire of a high-caliber round and the terrible shatter of one metal wing, pain exploding across her back and whiting her vision.

With a shout that caught in her throat, Fareeha tumbled, thrusters turning her head over heels until a rooftop terrace rushed up to meet her, teeth all rattling in her mouth. The impact left her breathless and disoriented, and her Raptora’s hard exoskeleton gave a crunch, webwork cracks fracturing into even smaller pieces. The blare of alarms in her ears warned her of critical damage to the suit, but the throb of pain in her back told her scores more.

“Sniper,” she wheezed into her wrist-comm, answering the flurried calls for her status.

As the chatter turned to isolating the threat, Fareeha gasped for air, grappling for purchase to flip onto her stomach, her back spasming with fresh shocks of pain. Her helmet tumbled off, hair sticking to her face as she struggled to her elbows. It was all she could do to try to process the information around her through a haze of pain and sudden adrenaline, but she managed to make herself focus and figure out what had caught her before the ground had.

Around her, a low railing encircled what looked to be a large balcony. Potted plants and scaling walls of ivy lined the edges of it. If she had to guess, more than one of those pots had broken her fall, the ceramic and soil scattered around her. A lack of warmth told her the shot had not penetrated her armor, likely only because it had gone through a wing first before finding the left side of her lower back.

Her fingers flexed around her rocket launcher, and she grit her teeth. Even if the bullet hadn’t made it through, the percussive strength of the blow left her reeling. Within the hour, the whole of that area would be black and blue, the muscles sore for days.

Compared to what it could have been… This was karmic justice surely, for wishing for some kind of resistance.

Fareeha took deep breaths, pulling one leg up under her despite the severe protests from her back. She would be fine, which meant she needed to move.

Pushing up onto her elbows and reaching for her helmet, she froze when the glint of something metallic came sailing over the low railing of the balcony. It skipped twice before coming to a rest right beside her, beeping. Blue lights flashed, and Fareeha’s eyes widened, body curling up away from the device right before it -

_Fss._

There was no explosion, but Fareeha’s next inhalation burned her throat all the way down, her eyes watering. Dropping her hands from her head, she staggered to one knee, covering her mouth with one arm and lifting her rocket launcher with the other.

The rooftop garden swam in a blue haze as gas hissed from the canister, and by instinct alone Fareeha engaged her thrusters to escape the noxious cloud, her stinging vision blurring with tears. On a broken wing, she only unbalanced herself, not even making it off the ground before a dark figure vaulted over the wall opposite of her.

Red gleamed, and Fareeha fired a hasty round, the rocket soaring right by the advancing figure to hit the wall behind them. The blast turned pieces of stone into shrapnel, a dozen more potted plants exploding as Fareeha was thrown against the wall at her back from the force of the detonation. The damaged wing crunched, and if Fareeha could have cried out at the feel of smashing injury-first into the railing that rose at her back, she would have screamed. All she managed was a strangled grunt, pain ricocheting through her skull as something wet poured down the side of her face.

Every inch of her rang in violent dissonance, the explosion leaving her both deaf and blind, scrabbling to right herself and blinking away the black narrowing her vision to points. A split brow was nothing if she’d thrown her assailant into the streets far below, giving herself a chance to reposition and find her squad.

Fareeha's next inhale was smoke and gunpowder, but the gas seemed to have dispersed, no doubt helped by her shot. Her throat still constricted, but she managed to gulp down gracious breaths of air as she pushed herself up, head spinning. The pain was manageable, but she had to -

Something hard slammed down onto her right hand, sure to have snapped her wrist if not for the protective layer of armor there. It was enough of a shock to jar the rocket launcher from her grasp, panic burning through her chest with the gas as she recoiled instinctively.

Fareeha’s sight cleared just enough to see something dart behind her, taking advantage of the empty space where her wing had been before. She managed to grunt before a length of cable found the space beneath her chin. Already starved of air, Fareeha’s only resistance was to wedge her fingers between the cable and her throat, fighting for every inhale. A long leg hooked around her waist, elbows pressing hard into her throbbing back to pull the makeshift garotte tight.

“Continue to struggle,  _ch_ _érie,"_ came a harsh breath at her still ringing ear. “It will make this so much sweeter.”

Fareeha’s eyes flickered down to her launcher, gasping like a fish out of water, lungs aflame. Stretching to reach it earned her only the click of a tongue, her assailant’s other leg kicking out to push the weapon just out of her grasp.

They were completely intertwined, straining against one another - and Fareeha was losing, her vision beginning to fade once more.

She tipped her head back, the edges of her gauntlet’s fingers biting into the soft flesh of her throat, the comm-unit at Fareeha’s wrist spitting static and a storm of _Amari, do you copy’_ s. Kicking and rasping for air, survival blazed through Fareeha’s thoughts even as her strength waned, and a decade of training with the Raptora kicked in.

Fareeha jumped.

Missing a wing, it wasn't a proper jump, but Fareeha still exploded into the air, dragging her attacker with her, the two of them wheeling through the sky and out over the street. The body at her back clung tight to her, a surprised curse finding Fareeha’s ear even in the frenzy of disorientation. The sky and ground spun, Fareeha limp, her ears ringing with the threat of unconsciousness.

The cable cut deeper with the force of the jump, but as soon as gravity seized the two of them, it fell away, her assailant's fingers clawing at Fareeha’s armor as she drew her first ragged breath in what felt like minutes.

Descent was a rollercoaster, the butterflies in Fareeha’s stomach warning of imminent impact even if she couldn’t process it, her mind a blank. Still reeling and with one wing gone, there was no chance to stabilize or cushion the landing, and Fareeha watched the street rush up to meet them.

And then freefall turned into a sharp jerk of momentum, the ground swinging by beneath her, strong limbs wrapping around Fareeha's hips and beneath one of her arms. Fareeha’s mind registered only that something was wrong, her body still whole, right before she was dropped, hitting the ground with a solid thump and a wheeze.

Her suit crackled, every system on it sure to be compromised, and Fareeha, battered and breathless, found herself on a small patch of grass, her cheek pressed into it. The railing of a palisade rose around her, marking this as one of Numbani’s many alcoves, a patch of green in a world of chrome.

The sleek figure of her assailant dropped gracefully over said palisade, the cable - the _achingly familiar_ cable - of a grappling hook retracting into a device at their wrist. For the first time, Fareeha could see just who’d attacked her, and a sizzle of recognition burned at the base of her skull.

_Widowmaker._

There had been scarce information on Amélie Lacroix after her defection, all the files purged by her hand while the body of her husband was growing cold in their bed, but Fareeha’s mother had written of the sniper who had blinded her in one eye and driven her from the frontlines.  

Skin the pallor of an old bruise, Talon’s most prized operative took long, confident strides toward Fareeha, cutting a figure sharp as an assassin's blade with her skin-tight suit and neat ponytail. Unlike Fareeha, she seemed barely ruffled, bloody scrapes from the first rocket and a layer of dust the only proof of their tussle.

Every bit the hunter the rumors made her out to be, Widowmaker moved slowly, her visor snapping back to reveal golden eyes with a tinge of wild revelry, her look like hunger incarnate.

Fareeha pushed herself up onto her elbow, arm trembling beneath the weight, as Widowmaker closed the distance between them, gait steady even if her expression oozed excitement.

“Oh, little fly. You struggled so exquisitely.”

The lilt of that voice resembled a coo, but the utter coldness of it curdled in Fareeha’s gut.

Her mother had written that the duel between the two of them had made her taste mortality, made her doubt her own ability to pull the trigger as she had for decades. A single moment of hesitation had ended a career of service, made her retreat to the farthest reaches of the world to nurture her fear alone, all the fight driven out of her.

Fareeha’s jaw clenched, a flame which had nothing to do with her labored breaths broiling between her throbbing ribs.

From over her shoulder, Widowmaker drew her slung weapon and slid a lever on its side forward, the long barrel of a sniper’s rifle snapping into place. Her black lips quirked into a sinister smile. “Don’t fret, _chérie_ , I won’t kill you yet - ”

A concussive blast round from Fareeha’s wrist hit Widowmaker right in the gut, the force sending both of them flying, the Talon operative with a strangled yelp. Fareeha fared better because she was prepared, catching herself on her hands and knees and scrabbling to her feet. It took half a second to realize her rocket launcher had been left on the balcony somewhere above them, but Widowmaker was still on the ground when Fareeha did the next best thing.

Golden eyes flickered up as Fareeha’s thrusters kicked her forward, clumsy from the unbalanced momentum. She only managed to throw herself bodily at Widowmaker, grappling for an advantage and dragging them both to the ground.

Widowmaker sneered, but she was lean where Fareeha was bulky, she didn’t have the strength to resist when Fareeha immediately pinned her arm down, a single shot firing into the alcove’s bushes harmlessly, the sound deafening.

It was a quick fight compared to the one they’d had before.

Fareeha subdued her with crushing strength, an iron grip around both her wrists, her full weight crashing down on Widowmaker’s hips. Now it was Fareeha who hoped she’d struggle, adrenaline and victory pumping through her veins with every beat of her heart.

“You will find,” Fareeha rasped, her voice low and hoarse. She was caught, and Fareeha squeezed her wrists until she was sure bones ground together, wanting to make sure Widowmaker knew it. She thought herself a hunter, but Fareeha had her now, and she wasn't letting go. “I am not prey.”

Widowmaker’s face contorted in rage and pain, struggling briefly against Fareeha’s hold before suddenly going completely lax, her mouth pressed into a tight line. Veiled in passivity, she breathed out, her hands clenching in Fareeha’s grasp. A clear refusal: _you won't get the fight you want._

“Ruthless,” Widowmaker said, voice taut. “You don’t hesitate.”

It didn’t sound like an admission of defeat, and Fareeha would never be stupid enough to consider it such. Every inch of her radiated pain, her muscles all pushed to utter exhaustion, blood dripping down her face and throat. She would bear the proof of this encounter for weeks, rings of bruises covering her body.

And she would wear them as medals of honor.

Activating the wrist-comm by pushing it down against Widowmaker’s gauntlet, she tried to steady her rapid breaths. The radio buzzed, and she switched to Arabic. “Captain Nassar, what is the status of the payload?”

Widowmaker watched her with unblinking focus, daring even on her back. Fareeha had no idea if she could understand her, but now it hardly mattered.

“Arrived. No other hostile forces have been spotted since the sniper took a shot at you. Amari, where the hell are you?”

Fareeha couldn’t help but raise a brow at the woman as she pulled one of Widowmaker’s arms across her chest, easily holding both wrists in one hand while she snatched the sniper rifle from her. Alone?

Clearing her throat and tossing aside the rifle, she said, “I need a full security detail. I’ve detained the Talon operative Widowmaker at - ” She glanced up, trying to gain her bearings. “I’m not sure where in the city we are, and my suit has taken extensive damage. If the navigation system can’t find me, look for something ground-level, grassy, by the bend of a road. Red car 100 meters away.”

The response came immediately, astonished but snappy. “ _Widowmaker?_ Amari, you can have the whole damn bar if you want - on me. You might have just saved this whole operation.”

Fareeha’s lips quirked somewhat, another rush of victory flooding her veins, but she kept her tone firm. “Be watchful for other insurgents. I don’t believe she’s here on her own.”

Captain Nassar gave a word of understanding and cut the line.

That left only the two of them, Fareeha’s blood running hot in the aftermath of their struggle. Sucking in a harsh breath, she didn’t hide the way her eyes roamed Widowmaker’s body, desperate to detect even a hint of fight in her. When she found nothing, spite bid her revert to english, taunting, “The payload has already reached its objective. You have failed here.”

The woman beneath seemed not to recoil at the petty jab, but lean into it, her lips pulling in a slow smile until sharp white teeth flashed up at Fareeha.

“I didn’t expect you to put up such a fight.”

Fareeha scoffed. “No one ever taught me how to give up.”

“Even if it means ending up blown to bits by your own rocket or a stain on the pavement? _Magnifique_ ,” she hummed. “But if I wanted, you wouldn’t have had the chance to fight back. I’ve had a dozen opportunities to shoot you out of the sky since you entered the city. And I don’t miss.”

“I’ll remember to mention that at your hearing,” Fareeha told her, trying to steady her breathing and take stock of her situation. Bruised ribs, a gash in need of stitches over her brow, and at this point, a new suit. Her teeth ground. “I doubt many will find your mercy inspiring.”

“It wasn’t mercy,” Widowmaker rebuked, like the notion was abhorrent.

Fareeha’s attention fell on Widowmaker’s gauntlet, trying to figure out how to remove it. She bared her teeth in response to Widowmaker’s cutting glare. “Bad judgement, then.”

“ _Curiosity_. Did you know you have your mother’s face? We only met once, but she left quite the impression. When I saw you, I knew you must have been hers.” Widowmaker seemed encouraged by the knit in Fareeha’s brow, the way her nostrils flared at the mere mention of her mother. That glare morphed into something smug, and Fareeha forgot all about the gauntlet, body tense and ready. “I was curious - would you be spineless like her or -”

Widowmaker’s head snapped to the side, Fareeha holding a fistful of her hair in her free hand. The tug had been merciless, the woman’s face bunched with pain, but she had been lucky Fareeha’s mother had taught her not to punch someone who was already down.

Hair pulling, however, had never been off limits.

Straining to tilt her head, Widowmaker managed a smile. “What’s that, _ch_ _érie_? You look upset. Still in mourning?”

Fareeha’s fingers tightened in Widowmaker’s dark hair, tugging until she was sure strands of hair would come away with her hand. Even if her taunts were off the mark, Fareeha’s blood boiled, her mother’s scarred face swimming behind her eyes. Leaning down so she could sneer the words right in her face, Fareeha hissed, “Mourning ? You botched my mother’s murder as terribly as you botched mine. She is living out her retirement somewhere luxurious, maybe even France if she’s feeling clever.”

Her mother always did have a sense of humor, and Fareeha found herself appreciating it for the first time in years, if only for the expression it pulled from Widowmaker now. If she insisted on trading jabs while they waited to be picked up, Fareeha would oblige.

“You were curious if you could kill me?” Widowmaker’s lips pulled back in the beginnings of a snarl, but Fareeha wasn’t afraid of her. “You seem only capable of killing unarmed civilians or men who thought they could trust you. It’s no wonder your proudest kill is of an innocent man in his own bed, _Widowmaker_.”

The smolderings of anger fizzled out in an instant, like a flame extinguished by a tsunami. Widowmaker’s face blanked in small increments until no trace of emotion remained.

Going so still beneath her that for a moment Fareeha thought she’d stopped breathing, Widowmaker gazed up at her steadily. Fareeha frowned, eyes narrowed in consternation at the lack of a reaction, her hunger for Widowmaker’s fury only whetted. Watching her exposed throat, the pulse fluttering slowly just beneath the skin, Fareeha heard her chuckle, low and full of delight, her eyes flickering up to watch black lips curl into a vicious smile.

“Gérard? Is that who you’re referring to? On the contrary, I have much to thank Gérard for. My proudest kill - and the one I remember most vividly - was his wife, Amélie.”

That smile widened until it all but crawled across her flesh, a deep sense of unease accompanying the sight of those sharp, animal teeth. _A proper set of fangs for a spider_ , Fareeha thought, _and not an ounce of fear, even if I’ve caught her_.

“You say I wanted to kill you? I already told you, I wanted to see if you had any spine.” Widowmaker’s hands flexed against Fareeha’s grip, the edge of her gauntlet digging into Fareeha’s armored palm. “Now I see I was correct in choosing you, _ch_ _érie_.”

Fareeha stared, body tense at the purpose in Widowmaker’s tone, her drawl nearly sinister. With a confidence that shouldn’t have existed in someone forced onto their back, Widowmaker never blinked, still lax beneath Fareeha no matter how much Fareeha wanted her to struggle.

“Choosing me? For what - ”

Gunshots rang out, and Fareeha flinched, her head whipping around so quickly her aching back screamed in protest. Her wrist-comm fizzled, Captain Nassar’s voice announcing: _Talon!_

Two blocks over, maybe less -

Metal crunched, and Fareeha cried out as something punched right through the metal plating on her hand, pain exploding from three points. Her hand spasmed, recoiling, and before she could even turn, cruel fingers seized her by the hair, jerking her down until the flash of golden eyes was all she saw, the scent of gunpowder filling her nose.

Widowmaker’s mouth found hers in a bruising kiss, agony and confusion locking Fareeha’s joints as blood gushed from her hand and an insistent tongue pressed between her lips. Fareeha’s heart jumped into her throat as something bitter passed from Widowmaker’s mouth to her own, coating her tongue and filling her head with an effervescent haze.

Fareeha jerked her head away, spitting, but Widowmaker only laughed, smooth and rich.

“ _Ça pique, n'est-ce pas_?”

Below her, the hiss of coil retracting accompanied the release of Widowmaker’s grappling hook, Fareeha’s hand pulsing with new pain as the prongs ripped themselves from both armor and flesh. Widowmaker grinned, a feral, victorious grin, and Fareeha’s fist found the side of her face by pure reflex.

The hit was solid, but Fareeha’s head was spinning, cotton coating her tongue as the substance began its work -

More rifle-fire, but the crack of bullets seemed far off, Fareeha’s face growing hot, a full body shiver tensing every muscle in her. Widowmaker’s grin had become a grimace, her brow split from the punch, and she tightened her grip in Fareeha’s hair, tugging and lifting her hips at the same time to unseat her.

Fareeha crashed to the ground, the impact registering a couple of seconds afterwards. Widowmaker was already on her feet by then, stepping over Fareeha as the haze between her temples grew thicker, thoughts turning to water and slipping away every time she tried to grasp them. The trembling returned, this time with such force that her limbs withdrew, body curling in on itself instinctively.

“A shame about your suit,” Widowmaker said, her tone betraying not an ounce of sympathy. She lifted her rifle from the ground and touched her temple, goggles snapping into place over her eyes. “You wouldn’t - ”

The rest came as a droning warble, Fareeha’s eyes rolling back, her stomach clenching.

The last thing she saw was the black insignia of Talon, two operatives emerging from a bypath, and Widowmaker - taking aim, her lips pressed into a line.


	2. Chapter 2

Limbo burned.

Fareeha felt hands at her throat, a molten heat coursing through her veins at every touch, the shadows strangling all the air from her lungs. Sounds mixed and blended until there was no distinction between a viper’s hiss and the quick retraction of a cable, and when the world shook and groaned like a great chasm was opening up beneath her, there was nothing Fareeha could do but fall.

From the darkness, a flash of a memory became a full experience, distorted to wild and bestial proportions.

Angela Ziegler’s smile revealed rows of jagged teeth, wizened hand extended in a devil’s bargain, her eyes hollow pits. The pin at her collar glinted evilly, writhing and growing, the twin heads of the Caduceus coiling around her shoulders. The snakes raised their heads and bowed their necks, Talon’s insignia birthed from their shape, their fangs sharp and black and dripping ichor.

They reared as if preparing to cleave away parts of her, but the strike never came, the shifting tides of dark water rising higher. It filled Fareeha’s mouth and chilled her to the bone, and the snakes and the doctor disappeared as Fareeha's head slipped beneath the surface.

Through the sea, Fareeha drifted underwater, her limbs growing colder as the muffled voice of Captain Nassar reminded her they needed Talon if Helix were to survive. That Overwatch had returned so swiftly it felt as though they'd never left. But soon even that melded into nothing.

Twice she surfaced and saw light, a flash of movement and phantom sensation, and then the sea rolled over her head once more. She saw her mother’s scarred face, her anguished expression concealing the laughter lines at the corners of her mouth. She saw Widowmaker bent over herself, a needle at the soft bend of her elbow.

Fareeha breathed and no water filled her lungs.

A ceiling fan rattled with every turn overhead, its outline just visible through slivers of light from somewhere nearby. Fareeha watched it spin through a haze, the sweat on her brow steadily drying and forming a crust.

The oscillating ringing in her ears threatened unconsciousness, but no matter how much Fareeha blinked, the image didn’t fade. Huh.

Awakening felt like dying slowly, the awareness of her limbs and joints and all the aches in them coming back in increments. Every breath was accompanied by a tightness in her breast, a dull pain which lingered between her ribs like a dormant beast, and Fareeha found that her throat bore the proof of its habitation, its claws leaving her rasping and sore.

The cushions beneath her creaked when she shifted, and her head lulled to the side, eyes falling upon a window, the blinds pulled against the neon colors beyond. She licked her chapped lips, mouth full of cotton, and choked trying to swallow, her rattling cough echoing through darkness.

And the darkness responded.

“Alive? Hm.”

The lilt of that voice invoked a base reaction her mind could barely keep up with. Fareeha’s muscles all tensed at once, leg kicking out to try to right herself. She flipped onto her side and earned a bout of dizzying vertigo and immediate nausea, her cheek pressed into something soft. Fareeha’s body was stiff with disuse, like a machine overgrown with knotting roots and thick moss, and though she tried to spring up, all she managed was sharp tug of muscle in her neck.

A nuisance, something to be cataloged away for later, but the snap of resistance against her wrists sent wails of alarms through her head, her wrists chafed raw by some kind of restraint.

Heels clicked against wood, and Fareeha craned her head to see a shape emerging from the deep shadows in a dim violet hue. The low-light emitters on Widowmaker’s suit only gave Fareeha a murky silhouette of the woman, but it was enough: she was cut of angles and lethal edges, the glint of her rifle by her hip nothing compared to the the sight of her visor’s eight lenses all trained on Fareeha.

Remembering their unfinished fight with the clarity of fingers in her hair, a garrote against her throat, Fareeha’s self-preservation screamed now was the time for fight or flight. Trembling from the effort, Fareeha pushed herself up onto her elbows, eyes trained on Widowmaker’s weapon. The second she raised her rifle it would be too late, but Fareeha was disoriented, sick to her center, and slow. Like charging through water, through muck, her every move was resisted.

Unconcerned with Fareeha’s struggles, Widowmaker stopped at the edge of the couch’s cushions. “Mm. I had wondered if you would wake at all, even after I cut the dose.”

Fingers at Fareeha’s chin made her flinch, and Widowmaker towered over her, triumphant. Insistent pressure of thumb and forefinger drew Fareeha’s gaze up, her head tilted back, mouth parted in uncertainty. Widowmaker’s visor opened with a sharp click of metal, golden eyes catching the unnatural hues of her suit.

A thoughtful hum and then a pleased, "Stubborn girl."

Recoiling was instinctive, but the fingers at Fareeha’s chin tightened, denying her retreat. Widowmaker held her in place, leaned closer, and pressed her thumb to the udjat beneath her eye, examining her clinically.

“You - ” Her voice was rough, almost painful, but Widowmaker hardly noticed, giving her other eye the same treatment. “You poisoned me.”

“You noticed?” Widowmaker’s black lips quirked. “It was only something to calm you down. You’ll be fine, but if you notice blood in your tears, well...”

Widowmaker smiled.

The sight of it filled Fareeha with fury, and she knocked away Widowmaker’s hand with her bound ones, a fresh shock of pain traveling up her arm. She couldn’t strangle the sound of surprise before it escaped, looking down to find the wound Widowmaker had inflicted with her grappling hook, the punctures mostly healed but still red and raw around the edges.

Almost like a healing ointment had been applied.

“So fragile.” Widowmaker’s laughter was soft and mocking.

Fareeha’s head snapped up, her hand balling into a fist, the bare flesh-

Her mind short-circuited at the feel of her nails biting into her palm - no armor.

Fareeha’s eyes were beginning to adjust, but she didn’t need to see to know her Raptora was gone. The weight of it was unmistakable, the absence jarring, especially now. Grasping at her chest, Fareeha found the only protection she had was the thin, lycra bodysuit worn beneath the Raptora.

A tingle at the base of her skull: fear. Without her Raptora, she felt naked and damnably vulnerable, and Widowmaker must have known it.

“Abysmal, isn’t it? To be stripped of your teeth.” Whispered from a mouth full of fangs. “I’d have preferred you kept them as well, but ah, _c'est la vie_.”

“Shut up,” Fareeha snapped.

“It’s good that you are recovering so quickly. We’ll need to move soon.” Widowmaker turned, her ponytail swaying as she walked, rifle still at hand. She bent over and retrieved a satchel from the floor, slinging it on her shoulder. “I don’t expect we’ll be safe here for much longer.”

Fareeha’s everything hurt, but her strength was coming back in gradual measures as her muscles stretched and the blood flow returned. Not wanting to be caught on her belly the next time Widowmaker tried to grab her face, she inched her legs over the side of the couch and forced herself to sit up.

“You said you don’t know when to give up. If you can learn to at least sit quietly -” Widowmaker’s grip on her rifle shifted slightly, just enough for Fareeha to know what was on the other side of that if. “- You can have these.”

From the bag, Widowmaker pulled two items and held them up for Fareeha to see. The first: a familiar tube of blue gel with a red cross on its label. The second: a key.

Fareeha’s eyes immediately darted down to the cuffs between her wrists.

Widowmaker smirked, seeing her point taken.

The offering felt like a lure, the hook hidden in Widowmaker’s cruel hands, her proximity - not that Fareeha had much of a chance of defending herself anyway. Her jaw tensed, and she didn’t move, trying to calculate the risk.

Widowmaker looked at Fareeha as if she were talking to a child, her tone chiding. “Do you relish the pain? You can keep those injuries if you - ”

“Shut. Up.”

Fareeha snatched them from Widowmaker, who handed them over easily.Quickly fumbling with the handcuffs, she dropped them on the ground between her feet as soon as she was free, a voice in the back of her head telling her it didn’t matter either way.

Widowmaker had spun her web, entangling Fareeha completely. Even unshackled, there was no chance of turning this around.

 _Almost no way_ , Fareeha thought defiantly, rubbing her raw wrists.

“Apply that quickly. We aren’t staying long.”

Taking commands was what Fareeha had been trained for, but now it was the last thing she wanted to do. Squeezing the medi-pak, Fareeha answered Widowmaker with a demand of, “Where is it you think I’m going with you?”

Widowmaker gave a knowing tilt of her lips and then - Fareeha watched incredulously - turned her back on Fareeha completely. It was a declaration, plain as day: _I have nothing to fear from you._

On the adjacent wall, a beaten armchair was haloed in the pink and purple light seeping through the blinds of the window behind it. Widowmaker lowered herself into it with a dancer's grace, her rifle propped on her thigh, the barrel extended. 

“Away from a Talon safe house, assuming you don’t wish to receive the operatives sure to be on their way here.” A pause. “And they are on their way - ”

“ _You’re_ a Talon operative,” Fareeha accused.

“Formerly." Widowmaker’s eyes gleamed dangerously. "I carried you out of the war zone Helix and Talon made of Numbani. And eliminated the Talon operatives who got in the way.”

"After you poisoned me."

Widowmaker's brow twitched with irritation. “Do you think you’d be here talking to me now if Talon had any say in it? Had we met under different circumstances, you’d already be dead,” she said, leaning back into her seat, tilting her head toward the window, and peeking out between the slates of the blinds. For a moment, more light filtered in, illuminating the edges of a sparsely furnished room with a doorway leading into darkness. “Or _worse_ \- Talon is in the business of adding to its ranks.

The woman sitting before her now was living proof of that, and Fareeha tensed at just the suggestion. Still, beneath that thinly veiled threat, Fareeha sensed more. “But?”

Widowmaker smiled, not turning from the window. “But - I’m looking for a willing _partner_ in an endeavor I suspect you’ll be very invested in -”

The sentence ended as if the rest had been carved off by a butcher’s knife, Widowmaker’s body going stiff. A moment of silence passed before her visor snapped together over her eyes, and she jumped to her feet with her rifle raised faster than Fareeha could blink.

Fareeha couldn’t scramble to her own feet fast enough, fearing the end to whatever game this was, but Widowmaker wasn’t looking at her. Those red lenses examined the darkness like it was a beast that would pounce at any moment. Lowering her voice until Fareeha could barely hear it, she said, “Two cars outside. Keep your head down and stay out of the way. They’re early.”

She was gone in the next moment, melding into the shadows of the room, her suit’s self-illumination cut off. And just like that, Fareeha found herself alone, her pulse thumping in her ears.

From somewhere nearby, she heard the creak of wood, and the dreadful realization of just how exposed she was crashed over her. Disarmed, without her suit, and standing in the middle of an empty room, she was a sitting duck for whatever had spooked Widowmaker. The floorboards groaned beneath the weight of a stalking creature, and Fareeha did the first thing she thought of: she found cover. In a mostly empty room, that meant dropping to the ground as softly as she could and rolling under the couch until her shoulder touched the wall.

Counting the time with her labored breaths, Fareeha tried to stay as still as possible, tucking the softly glowing tube of ointment beneath her stomach and watching the doorway.

She didn’t have to wait very long.

The vague outline of a black boot toed the frame, just barely visible. If Fareeha hadn’t had her cheek pressed to the floor, she would have never noticed until it was too late.

Four sets of boots rushed into the room, splitting left and right in standard button-hook room clearing procedure. They were a whisper of movement over wood, and at once Fareeha knew just hiding wouldn’t be enough to escape their search.

The fourth had just rushed in, when -

The first shot popped, the second coming so quickly after that Fareeha almost didn’t hear the first’s exit spatter. The first body hit the ground, gunfire and a surprised shout cut short by the third shot. A helmet rolled toward the couch as the second and third bodies dropped. The Talon insignia on it bore a hole through its forking horns, and Fareeha flinched at the sound of a reload.

“Widowmaker, stand down!” The fourth’s voice rose shrilly, his feet rooted to the spot, and Widowmaker’s heels clicked as she touched down on the ground. “That’s an order - stand down!”

Fareeha expected another clean shot right between the eyes, especially for a target that wanted to shout when he should have shot, but the rustle of movement was the only warning before Widowmaker leapt back, single shots abandoned for rapid fire.

Widowmaker emptied an entire magazine into the man, not stopping until even Fareeha could hear the futile click of an empty weapon’s trigger. Fareeha didn’t dare breathe.

The body of the fourth slumped to the ground, riddled with holes, but in his hand he didn’t hold a weapon or grenade, nothing to provoke the visceral reaction. His fingers curled weakly around a syringe, the fluid within a mercurious crimson, almost the same shade as his blood running across the floor.

Fareeha’s face was all but tucked into the bend of her elbow, but her eyes stayed trained on what she could see of the room. She could see the bodies, all of them on heaps on the floor, and Widowmaker’s feet, her stance wide. Silent as a mouse, Fareeha inched forward and caught sight of her: lithe body hunched, rifle held at the ready. Like Widowmaker was just waiting for the man to jump up and rip her throat out.

Cautiously, Widowmaker took short strides forward. There was no trace of the surety with which she’d lorded over Fareeha in Numbani.

“ _Merde_ ,” Widowmaker hissed.

She closed in on the man, pushing the lever forward on her rifle and ejecting the empty magazine for a full one. Fareeha watched her position the muzzle of her sniper rifle right between the man’s eyes, trigger pull smooth, like it was the only way to be sure. Mutely, Fareeha laid there on her stomach as the shot went off, expended bullet casing clattering to the ground afterwards. Then she began to crawl out from beneath the couch and climb to her feet, her jaw set, eyes traveling over the carnage around her.

Even in the dark, the blood painting the walls and floor was unmistakable, each body surrounded by a growing pool of it. Widowmaker had caught most of them before they’d had a chance to spread out. From here, Fareeha thought she could pick out shards of skull littered on the floor.

And at the center of it all, Widowmaker, standing like a shade over the last man down.

Fareeha remembered: this was the person who had fired on her mother, intent to kill. This was one of Overwatch’s many shadows, a plague upon everything she touched, and this was the person who held Fareeha’s life in her merciless hands.

Her eyes fell to the assault rifles each of the men had carried. _Almost_ no chance.

Because she’d shot them down while they were rushing through the funnel of the door, the bodies were only inches apart, and worse, Widowmaker was amidst them, an effective barrier between Fareeha and a weapon.

Silently as she could manage, Fareeha crept forward until she was only paces away from both Widowmaker and the dead. Intent upon the fallen, Widowmaker crouched by the man and reached for the syringe in his palm like it was a viper ready to strike, spellbound.

At least, until she caught Fareeha's reflection in the glass syringe, whipping around and jumping to her feet. Fareeha’s eyes snapped to the weapons on the ground and then back to Widowmaker, rushing forward and tackling her before she could raise her rifle.

The charge sent them both tumbling across the blood-spattered ground in a tangle of limbs and bared teeth, the syringe dropping to the ground and shattering.

Widowmaker let out a true snarl as her visor tumbled off in the scuffle, and Fareeha let the sound of it fill her with the strength she didn’t have. They grappled for the sniper rifle, and Fareeha managed to get a hand on the barrel. In a tug of war, even the weakness in Fareeha's limbs wouldn't stop her from carrying the advantage in sure size and weight.

Rolling halfway into the pitch black hallway, the smack of Widowmaker’s back against wood signaled victory. Fareeha pulled the rifle toward her - and Widowmaker pushed up, cracking the chamber against Fareeha’s forehead.

Stars burst, and the world faded, the ringing in her ears returning as gravity shifted. It couldn’t have been more than a moment, but by the time her vision cleared, Fareeha found she’d lost the advantage, Widowmaker sitting proud astride her, the muzzle of her weapon pressed into Fareeha’s neck.

Her vision blurred, hot blood pouring down into her eyes, and Fareeha groaned despite herself, head pounding. Above her, golden eyes gleamed even through the darkness, feral slits which could have only belonged to something inhuman.

The muzzle slid up, forcing Fareeha’s head back as it found the soft skin at the juncture of her throat and jaw. The throbbing in her skull was nothing compared to the way Widowmaker looked at her now, every muscle poised to strike. She recognized that look, as familiar as her own reflection. That was the look of someone who had never failed to pull the trigger.

There was no sound between them save their harsh breathing, Fareeha closing her eyes and digging her fingers into where they had landed on Widowmaker’s thighs, sure this was it.

But still Widowmaker didn’t fire.

Seconds dragged into an eternity, Fareeha’s skull felt like it would explode, her muscles all burning with the effort of that last ditch struggle. Every breath she drew was a surprise, a moment more of life she didn’t expect, waiting for the shot sure to come.

“Rabid dogs without sense -” It was barely above a whisper, each syllable fraught with murderous intent. “Are better off dead.”

Fareeha didn’t respond - couldn’t. Still reeling from the hit, stringing her thoughts together felt like trying to thread a needle without looking at it. She swallowed thickly, the warm muzzle of Widowmaker’s rifle pressing hard into her throat.

From the other room, radio chatter crackled in a language Fareeha couldn’t understand.

“Get your hands off me.”

It took a moment to process the demand, but Fareeha slowly disengaged, pulling her hands away from Widowmaker’s hips to lay them palm up on either side of her head.

Widowmaker didn’t blink, fury still blazing in her eyes. “When this team doesn’t report in eight minutes, Talon will be sending more. You have ninety seconds to decide whether you’re going to act with sense.”

Fareeha didn’t say anything.

Without the dramatic flair from before, Widowmaker’s words were all rapid-fire, devastatingly blunt. Unbidden, Fareeha realized it meant she’d probably pushed Widowmaker to the limit of her restraint, and even now, some small, petty part of her took pleasure in simply knowing that.

“In that syringe-” For half a second, Widowmaker’s eyes cut to the broken needle, the serum mixing with the blood of the dead operatives. “Was a prototyped chemical agent with the capacity to completely suppress a person’s sense of self. It robs them of their free will and renders them puppets to be commanded. _Toy soldiers_ , you understand? With it, Talon would have the ability to transform people into weapons.

“Every adversary could become an ally. Civilians. Military. Overwatch. Even its own operatives.”

Fareeha’s head swam. “What -”

Her voice died out, helped by the way Widowmaker bore down upon her rifle, effectively crushing Fareeha's windpipe.

“I want to destroy this drug. Permanently. But to do it alone would be very dangerous. Talon wants to use it on me. They know our alliance is a convenience, and the man who has created this drug has surely promised he’ll erase that uncertainty." A snarl bare of human notes escaped her throat. "I want to erase him first. I want to make sure no one on this planet can manufacture this drug. But I can’t do it alone.”

There was a long pause, Widowmaker sucking in a deep breath. Slowly, she eased back so her rifle merely kissed Fareeha’s skin, and Fareeha gulped down a gracious breath.

“You have twenty seconds to make your decision.”

Fareeha hesitated, all the words swirling endlessly, around and around. _Drug. Control. Overwatch._

Finally, she managed a whisper: “Why me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.” Widowmaker’s brow twitched. “You weren’t my first pick, but I have an unfortunate reputation with the group I wanted. I doubt they would have taken me at my word.”

Fareeha stared, the realization coming a moment later. “You wanted Overwatch.”

When she'd told Captain Nassar everyone wanted Overwatch now, she never imagined people like Widowmaker were included in that.

"Yes."

After her mother’s letter, Fareeha had read up on the events which led to Amélie Lacroix’s kidnapping and those that came after. Without a doubt, if Widowmaker dared approach Overwatch - even with this information - she’d be jailed at the least, killed on site at the worst.

So she did the next best thing: she found Fareeha, daughter of one of Overwatch’s core members.

“Also,” Widowmaker continued. She was no less severe than before, but it looked like she’d caught her breath now. “You have a vested interest. I know Talon’s routes, and I've had people keeping an eye on shipments since I left. The drug's first real-life test is set to take place in Cairo, Egypt. Can you guess which asset it will be used on there?”

Fareeha's heart skipped a beat., and the answer came to her in a rush of fear. “Helix.”

Widowmaker inclined her head in a half-nod. “A battalion of your Raptoras would give Talon the means to take entire cities."

The faces of her squad swam through Fareeha’s mind. Captain Nassar in her jackal's helm was at the fore, the rest of Fareeha's squad flanking her, and for one terrible moment, Fareeha considered what would happen to them if Widowmaker was telling the truth. _Toy soldiers._

Her fears must have been written out in her expression.

“You think I’m monstrous? Just wait until you see what your comrades will become.” The muzzle of her sniper rifle slowly slid to the side. "They'll be used for anything. Destruction. Killing. And they aren't even the main prize. Once Talon has the ability to take Overwatch, your companions won't matter. They might even be disposed of - "

“ _Stop_.” Fareeha could feel her heart hammering between her ribs, a steady ball of terror gathering in the pit of her stomach. It was almost too much to even imagine, like a nightmare given the power to rip itself from the mind, the new, festering reality blending all her fears into one. "Shut up."

For a moment, Widowmaker seemed to comply.

Then, from the bodies littered on the floor, a radio crackled again, reminding them of the teams waiting just outside.

“Twenty seconds,” Widowmaker repeated, glancing at the radio and then back to Fareeha. “Will you do this with me?”

Fareeha felt ill. Her tongue was wooden, useless.

Mutely, she nodded.

Widowmaker didn’t smile. Her eyes were concrete, but her weight shifted as she carefully untangled herself from Fareeha. On her knees at Fareeha's side, Widowmaker was gaunt and angular, their second scuffle peeling away the mocking edges of her for the time-being. In a tone which brokered no arguments, she said, “Then we need to move.”


	3. Chapter 3

“Catch.”

Fareeha caught the assault rifle by the barrel, the weight of the weapon unfamiliar but comforting nonetheless. One hand on the grip, the other on the heatguard, Fareeha remembered her far off days with the Egyptian military, holding her weapon just as she had then. It had been some time since she'd used anything by a rocket launcher, but a quick glance at the side of the rifle revealed the mechanisms appeared similar to what she remembered. Charging handle, selector switch, magazine ejection... Fareeha checked the chamber, and she could see the magazine already loaded in still contained bullets.

At if pulled by magnetism, Fareeha's revelation attracted Widowmaker's hawkish gaze, the weight of it palpable without even looking up. Riding the charging handle closed slowly, Fareeha closed the chamber's port cover and raised her eyes, confirming what she already knew: Widowmaker had gone still, her rifle in her hands, her thin lips pulled into a severe frown.

Hasty accord or no, it seemed Fareeha wasn’t the only one mindful of the knife poised at her back.

Even after she’d been been allowed to pull herself off the ground, Fareeha hadn’t been a threat. But now she had a weapon. Now she could fill Widowmaker full of holes just as easy as Widowmaker could do to her. Now the only thing keeping her from ending their agreement was the threat of Talon looming on the horizon, and it looked like Widowmaker knew it.

A thought fluttered by: Widowmaker had to be more desperate than she made herself out to be if she was allowing Fareeha this much. 

Clearing her throat, she broke eye contact and glared down at the bodies instead, bending to search for ammunition. For now, their alliance would stand. “Is there anything else we could use here?”

The tension between them bled away as Widowmaker’s shoulders relaxed by measures. Stepping over one of the bodies, she approached the broken syringe on the ground. “If I’d been able to recover this dosage, there’s a chance I could have found someone to create a counter-agent.”

Fareeha didn’t miss the accusing note in her tone, but as she had no plans to apologize, she said nothing. Instead, she unstrapped the ammunition vest on one of the men, making sure not to look to closely at what was left of his head. Inspecting the magazines, she figured she had a little over 120 rounds and - most pressingly - a canteen of what she hoped was water. Pulling it from the pouch, she uncapped it and took a long swig. Cool water rushed down her dry throat, and she had to force herself not to drink it all at once.

Widowmaker clicked her tongue at the snub. “So no. There is nothing else here.”

Dropping the canteen onto the floor once she'd had her fill, Fareeha turned her attention back on the vest. It had blood soaked into the back, but she was going to have to deal with it. Still, she couldn’t help making a face as she put it on and tightened it to her frame. “You said we have eight minutes.”

Picking up her visor off the ground and clipping it back into place, Widowmaker gave a curt nod. “Closer to four now.”

There was that accusatory tone again. Fareeha ignored it harder and retrieved her unused medi-pak from where she’d left it near the couch. “I’m ready.”

Widowmaker arched a brow as Fareeha joined her by the door, weapon slung and medi-pak in hand. “Do you know how to use that?”

Did her rustiness with the weapon show that much, or Widowmaker just being condescending? Honestly, it was too much trouble to try to sort out. Fareeha cracked open the top of the medi-pak and hurriedly began applying it to anything that hurt, which was, admittedly, everywhere. The new split on her brow from their scuffle, the older one from the fight before that, and her hand were first on the list.

Rubbing the numbing ointment on her palm, Fareeha shrugged. “Point and shoot.”

Despite not looking up from her work, Fareeha could feel the long look Widowmaker gave her. With a huff, Widowmaker snapped her visor closed and lifted her rifle slightly, crouching as she touched the doorknob. “Yes well, be mindful of your aim.”

The door opened, and Widowmaker rushed outside. Fareeha followed, dropping the used medi-pak, and the night air greeted her in a sweltering wave.

Once outside, she realized the safe house was in the midst of a city, though one she’d never seen before. They were on the third floor of some sort of apartment complex, the breezeway made of concrete and flights of stairs leading down to the street below. Cars horns and nightlife chatter came more distinctly now that they weren’t inside, and the street glowed neon pink and purple from various billboards.

Even if she didn’t know this place, from the way she was already sweating from a single step outside, Fareeha guessed they hadn’t gone more than a couple cities over.

“You have a plan, right?” Fareeha asked, jogging after Widowmaker as she took the stairs _up_.

“Obviously. Talon is crossing Europe as we speak. We hit them before they even make it across the Mediterranean and destroy everything.”

Hitting them before they even got on the continent? That was something Fareeha could get behind. Still: “I was thinking more short-term. We need to lose Talon - ”

Widowmaker clicked her tongue derisively. “You see those cars?”

Widowmaker stuck close to the inside of the stairwell, but she nodded toward the street as they took the ran past the landing for the next flight of stairs. Fareeha edged a bit closer to the stair's protective railing and peered down, spotting two black SUVs idling by the curb.

“There are secondary strike teams down there. We’re going around them.”

“That’s not exactly a plan,” Fareeha rebutted.

“I broke you out of your suit and transported your unconscious body out of a war zone by myself.” Widowmaker didn’t even look back. “Compared to that, this will be easy.”

“And then you thought it was a good idea to hide in a Talon safe house.”

Widowmaker grunted. “And now I’m thinking you should talk less.”

The building was taller than Fareeha had expected, and with each flight of stairs, she recognized how little she actually had healed in the interim between being poisoned and waking up. Her ribs ached with every breath and her back didn’t allow a single step without pain, but now wasn’t the time to be falling behind. Something told her Widowmaker wouldn’t be very sympathetic towards those who couldn't keep up.

Their destination became blatantly obvious as Widowmaker shouldered open a door to the roof, taking the stairs inside and pausing only only once all of the city opened before her.

They had to be at least eight floors up, and from here, Fareeha got a better idea of the size of this place. Buildings stretched almost as far as the eye could see, the open plains visible at the horizon only because it was dark where every inch of the city shone with vibrant light and activity. In such a big place, it would only be a matter of losing the reinforcements below in the urban labyrinth.

“I’ve leaned too much on Talon in the past. My own safe houses are few and far between,” Widowmaker said, the wind up here gusting harder. Her red lenses gleamed as she glanced back at Fareeha from the ledge. “But Talon has dozens of safe houses scattered across this part of Africa.”

She didn’t explain further, but Fareeha could see her meaning: needle in a haystack - let them waste their resources searching each one. Hopefully, the two of them would be well on their way to intercepting the shipment before any sizeable force could be amassed to follow their trail.

“Once we get out of the city, I’ve arranged for someone to pick us up fifty kilometers from here. He owes me a favor.”

The way she said that made Fareeha squint, but she had a feeling it was better not to ask. Instead, she said, “He’s not with Talon, is he?”

“He owes me,” Widowmaker repeated, like it meant something.

“If Talon is so keen to use this serum on its own operatives…”

“He’s immune. Or rather, his body is special.”

“Special?”

“The details are messy and intricate. You'll have to take my word for it." If Widowmaker was aware of the way Fareeha shot her an incredulous look, she didn't show it. "Regardless, we have our exit strategy. Aside from those strike teams, the way should be clear, so as long as you can keep up.”

“I can keep up just fine.” Fareeha made a face, clutching her rifle a little tighter and straightening as much as she could. She had only a few inches over Widowmaker, but she exploited them fully. “If I called Helix, they would have a chopper out here within the hour. My squad is probably still looking for me in Numbani. If we consolidated with them here and planned a joint assault on the shipment, there's no way Talon's security forces would be prepared for it.”

The clipped breath Widowmaker let out could have been a laugh. “You really think Helix is going to listen to the warning of a known Talon operative?”

“They will listen to _me_ if I explain the situation. The threat is too large for them to ignore.”

Widowmaker turned from where she had been surveying the surrounding rooftops. Her visor snapped open. “I didn’t think someone so ruthless could be so hopelessly optimistic. Helix isn’t an organization of bleeding hearts - it’s a company. Who’s going to pay for these services? You? Me? Helix’s involvement depends solely on profit.”

Fareeha scowled. “If I said we were being targeted - ”

“Helix would increase its own security. Your employer will fully engage when they’re being attacked, and it will be far too late by then.” Far below them, Fareeha heard what sounded like boots on stairs, but Widowmaker continued, “If you wanted to be a part of the heroes who save the day, you should have joined Overwatch - ”

The wind picked up, violent gales whipping at Fareeha’s hair and eyes right before a spotlight fell upon them both. Raising a hand against the blinding light, Fareeha caught the vague silhouette of a chopper high above them, damn near completely silent except for the shout of discovery that came from someone within. Widowmaker’s startled gaze cut to Fareeha, but Fareeha was already sprinting towards her and pulling the sling of her weapon over her head, the unmistakable outline of a mounted gatling gun seared into her mind.

The barrel clicked as it began to spin, and Widowmaker leapt from the ledge, Fareeha following her over, arms open. The first explosion of bullets against concrete hit as Widowmaker’s grappling hook shot out, Fareeha managing to catch her around the middle and hold tight as they swung into a darkened alley, the pop of ammunition hot on their trails.

Nails clawing for purchase along the back of Widowmaker’s suit, Fareeha was barely able to raise her voice above the gatling gun, her face pressed to Widowmaker’s stomach: “ _A helicopter?!_ ”

Widowmaker cursed and swung her legs, shifting the trajectory enough to send them scraping against the brick of one of the surrounding buildings. Fareeha almost lost her grip, but the deafening hail of gunfire where they’d just been was cause enough not to take it personally.

Landing came sooner than Fareeha expected, and she nearly tripped over her own feet when the ground came up to meet them. Widowmaker yanked her down a side passage just as the spotlight cut through the alley, searching. Fareeha could hear the telltale signs of panic from the people walking the streets, shouts of confusion erupting as the chopper circled the area, raining down death and destruction.

More than ever before, Fareeha wished she had her Raptora. She felt helplessly grounded as they ducked into the entranceway of a back alley shop, Widowmaker pressed into the corner and Fareeha pressed against Widowmaker. Squeezed so tightly together, Fareeha felt Widowmaker’s ragged breaths against her neck, the press of her own slung rifle between them, but her mind registered only the door resisting her push - locked.

Taking shelter was out, then. Hearing another spat of gunfire, the faint sound of rotary blades cutting through the air growing louder, Fareeha hissed, “I thought they wanted to take you alive.” 

“Ophio does.” Widowmaker bared her teeth in a grimace. “This would be Talon’s contingency.”

Fareeha’s hands found her rifle, watching over her shoulder as the spotlight drifted by. “Who?”

“The serum’s engineer.”

“Right, sure.” Fareeha exhaled sharply. “Plan?”

The visor snapped shut over Widowmaker’s eyes. “Point and shoot, _chérie_.”

“Great.”

The spotlight passed by their alcove again, and Fareeha held her breath, rushing from the spot the moment it moved further down the alley. Widowmaker was at her heels, and the moment they emerged back into the first alley, Fareeha heard the shuffle of gear and a holler - the secondary teams.

Widowmaker had already shot down the two foremost operatives by the time Fareeha opened a spray of bullets on the rest that had them ducking for cover.

“The street,” Widowmaker commanded, ejecting a mine that looked very familiar from the gauntlet on her wrist. It landed amongst the operatives and exploded with a cloud of toxic gas, but Fareeha didn’t have time for sympathy, turning and following Widowmaker the other way.

People swarmed the streets, trampling each other to escape the helicopter circling above, its spotlight swinging from cafes to the openings of alleyways. Two fleeing civilians almost bowled Fareeha over, knocking Widowmaker aside with thrown elbows and screaming for their lives. Fareeha’s throat constricted, and without thinking, she began to call for everyone to seek shelter in both Arabic and English.

“Shut up,” Widowmaker sneered, watching the helicopter as it hovered overhead farther down the street. “Cover me.”

She lifted her arm, grappling hook shooting out across the street to a small, partially concealed balcony on the other side, and suddenly Fareeha was alone among the crowds, a strike team at her back and a helicopter circling above.

“ _Bitch,_ ” she snarled.

As she dashed across the street, she continued to motion, gesturing wildly with her hands and screaming over the chaos for people to get inside. Drivers abandoned their cars, pedestrians sprinted away, and like ripples of water expanding away from a stone dropped in water, the crowds pushed and shoved to get by one another. Fareeha was almost swept away in the tide, but the rifle in her hands seemed to catch people's attention, and they split around her like a river around a rock.

Taking up position beneath Widowmaker’s impromptu sniper’s nest, Fareeha half concealed herself in the entryway to the building, crouched low and watching the alleyway they’d come from for the appearance of the strike team.

Through the thinning crowds, she saw the first appear - and fall - just as the sound of Widowmaker’s rifle echoed through the air. Another shot, and another fallen, but the operatives returned with a spray of suppressive fire, the ricochets of bullets cracking all around her. Fareeha saw two civilians go down, and she raised her weapon instinctively, firing back.

The was chopper was turning, perhaps drawn by the flash of gunfire or radio communications with the team below, and above, Fareeha could have sworn she heard Widowmaker curse, the sniper fire suddenly disappearing. Evaluating the battlefield, the helicopter should have been top priority, but Fareeha didn't turn her fire away from the secondary team, ducking down to pop in a new magazine and then shooting again. Bullets popped and dinged off metal and stone around her, but she kept her eyes on the two injured civilians crawling across the ground. 

The helicopter’s spotlight swung her way, but Fareeha didn't move from her spot until she saw the two people drag themselves beneath a car. Then it was all she could do to leap behind the concrete wall of her alcove at the gatling gun began to spin once more. 

Tucked behind a corner, Fareeha was spared the gun’s direct fire, but the hail of bullets sent shards of brick from the opposite corner of her hideaway flying, and she had to cover her head with her arms and pull her legs toward her body. Her pulse was rapid-fire, just the weapon bearing down upon her. Another minute, another second, and the chopper would have the angle to hit her -

And then the gunfire stopped completely, the gatling gun slowing to a stop.

“ _Personne n'échappe à mon regard._ ”

Fareeha lifted her head from her arms, each sporting a dozen new cuts, the sting promising the need for another medi-pak later. Another shot rang out, and Fareeha peeked out around the corner just in time to see the operative manning the spotlight on the helicopter drop, body hanging limply out the open door by their safety tether. Next to him hung the body of the gatling gun’s operator.

 _Allah_ , Fareeha thought, remembering what Widowmaker had said about having a million chances to shoot her out of the sky in Numbani. _She_ doesn’t _miss._

Three more shots fired in quick succession, almost like Widowmaker knew exactly where her targets were, and Fareeha had a feeling the strike team wouldn’t be shooting back anymore. Emerging from the alcove, Fareeha looked up, catching sight of the red gleam of Widowmaker’s lenses. Her mouth was pressed in severe concentration, rifle pointed up at the circling helicopter. She saw her take a breath and go completely still, her finger pulling smoothly against the trigger.

Glass shattered, and the chopper in the air tilted, its windshield bursting in a shower of shards.

Open mouthed, Fareeha felt her heart jump into her throat and stomach clench as the helicopter twisted mid-air, sinking lower and lower in a graveyard spin. Now would be an excellent time for a rocket jump, but Fareeha could only do the next best thing: seek cover.

Diving back into her alcove, she just barely saw one of the chopper’s blades cut through a building’s corner, chunks of stone blasting away as the helicopter dropped from the air. Even from this distance, the stones being thrown were big as anvils, and Fareeha curled in on herself, back pressed to the wall, and prayed. The impact rocked the very ground beneath her, a secondary shock emanating out from somewhere above her. Fareeha didn’t look up, but she could hear crunch of metal and the pop of the blades as they gouged through stone, wearing themselves away until finally -

Fareeha flinched when the engine exploded, flames crackling to life and blazing so hotly the sweat on her skin began to dry.

Breathing in and out, it was a long moment before Fareeha dared lift her head, the smell of burning gas filling her nose and throat. A glance from her hiding place had her squinting against the brightness, the helicopter bent and disfigured some twenty meters away where it had finally gone down.

Fareeha swallowed thickly. Widowmaker had taken down a helicopter with a _sniper rifle_.

Looking up to her makeshift sniper’s nest, Fareeha found only crushed stone, a piece of brick and mortar turned cannonball by the helicopter’s calamitous descent. Blinking dumbly, Fareeha stared up, searching for a sign of life.

“ _Merde._ ”

With the flames growing in the distance, Fareeha keyed in on the voice immediately, eyes flickering to the shape rousing on the street a meter down.

Widowmaker pulled herself to her hands and knees, her hair spilling down her back, blood globbing where shrapnel had pierced her suit and skin. She was breathing hard, but her injuries only seemed to irritate her, a snarl her only response to touching her temple and coming away with blood.

Golden eyes flickered up and met Fareeha’s, and Fareeha schooled her expression into neutrality.

Widowmaker must have seen the debris coming and leapt away, though apparently not as cleanly as she’d managed everything else thus far.

Fareeha helped herself up off the ground, telling herself that this was only the beginning. She was fairly certain she tasted blood, but considering the events of the last 36 hours, that was becoming more and more expected. The smoking heap that had been Talon’s chopper gave a final, guttural flare.

Fareeha coughed into her hand as Widowmaker approached, letting her weapon hang by its sling. “You’re insane.”

“You’re one to talk.” Widowmaker’s mouth twitched into a scowl as she brushed herself off and tried to gather her loose hair. Fareeha was reminded of the way she’d jumped when Widowmaker had her by the throat, reckless and desperate, and contended that remaining in sight for a helicopter to help civilians probably wasn't helping Widowmaker's perception of her self-preservation. “Let’s just go.”

No doubt the distant wail of emergency vehicles was making Widowmaker antsy. Which reminded Fareeha -

A survey of the scene revealed the car the injured had taken shelter under was still in place, and faintly, she could hear the wail of emergency sirens. Dropping her rifle, Fareeha ignored Widowmaker’s impatient call and jogged toward the car she'd seen the two injured people disappear beneath.

When she bent to check, a teenage boy and an older woman both flinched away, clinging to one another with desperation. _Good sign_ , she thought, thought the sight of blood pooling beneath them was cause for concern.

“It’s okay,” she said in Arabic, holding up her hands to show she was unarmed. She repeated it in English just in case. “I’m here to help.”

The boy responded first, crawling from beneath the car and clutching his shoulder tightly, tears in his eyes and dirt on his face.

“There’s an ambulance on the way. Just keep holding it, yes, good.” Fareeha’s eyes roamed the rest of him, but aside from the blood staining his shoulder, he looked mostly unharmed. She breathed a sigh of relief and bent to look at the woman who hadn’t budged an inch. “Can you move?”

The woman shook her head and responded quietly, her voice cracking, that she’d been hit in the leg. Fareeha glanced at the weak pulses of dark blood from the woman's calve. Okay, it didn't look like an artery had been hit since the wound wasn't spurting, but the woman was pale, her brown skin beaded with sweat.

“I can pull you out. It will hurt, but you're going to be okay.”

The woman bit her lip but nodded her head, and Fareeha gingerly reached beneath the car’s frame, taking hold of the woman’s extended arms and pulling as carefully as she could.

By the time she managed to get her out, the ambulance was there, its sirens blaring as medic rushed to help the boy and the woman, stretchers being pulled from the back of the truck. They relieved Fareeha when they ushered her away from the woman, trying to assess the severity of her wounds, and Fareeha let them.

Before they could try to care for her as well, she slipped away, returning to the spot to find Widowmaker, who was sticking to the edges of the scene to avoid being seen. Fareeha had almost expected her to take off without her, but Widowmaker had stayed, waiting, though not patiently. She fixed a pointed look on Fareeha as she approached.

“Now we can go,” Fareeha said.

Widowmaker wrinkled her nose. “You really should have joined Overwatch.”

Fareeha picked up her rifle and slung it over her shoulder. "Shut up, and let's go."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> added two more chapters to allow this to be a mostly talking chapter and to include an epilogue....... y'all i promise this is the last time it happens

Widowmaker drove.

It was an old car, its motor sputtering like it needed a new belt and an oil change, but it suited their needs. There was no indication whether it belonged to Widowmaker or had been picked up somewhere along the way, but she had the keys and Fareeha couldn’t complain about not walking - or worse, trying to tidy themselves up enough to catch a taxi.

When she'd first opened the passenger's door, she found the seat reclined and stained with dark brown patches, and it had only taken a second for the dots to connect: if Widowmaker had carted her unconscious body out of Numbani with this car, it suddenly made a lot more sense how they'd escaped at all. No one would have paid any mind to an ancient thing like this, and it didn't exactly scream _international terrorist's preferred method of travel._

Which was working in their favor now. Emergency vehicles rushed through the streets, detours being setup to route people around the scene of the helicopter’s demise, but thankfully, as they were driving directly away from it, their path stayed mostly clear. Finally, the city faded behind them, the open savanna stretching as far as the eye could see in front of them, and Fareeha breathed a sigh of relief.

“How long do you think we have before they realize we were here?” Fareeha asked, finally setting her assault rifle in her lap and beginning to shrug out of the blood-soaked ammunition vest she’d borrowed off the corpse of the Talon operative. She grimaced somewhat as she dropped it into the back seat, her stomach turning at the sticky feel of coagulating blood.

“There will be more choppers here in fifteen minutes,” Widowmaker said plainly.

More of those helicopters? Fareeha was hopeful they would be long gone by that time. Offhandedly, she said, “They really want you dead.”

“Or worse,” Widowmaker said.

The surety with which Widowmaker said that made Fareeha frown, remembering what Widowmaker had said about the serum's ability to overwrite a person's free will. Unbidden, the thoughts of her squad caught around her neck like a noose, stealing her breath and forcing her to think of something else. They would make it in time. No one would suffer that fate.

Clearing her throat, Fareeha said, “Will there be a comm-center where we’re going? I need to get in touch with my squad.”

Even if Widowmaker had made her opinion on Helix blatantly obvious, there was no changing Fareeha’s stance. The best way to efficiently crush this threat was to go at it with an experienced, well armed force, and Fareeha could think of no one more suited to the task than her Raptora unit.

 _Well, almost no one,_ a nagging part of her brain insisted, Overwatch's logo swimming behind her eyes.

Exasperation harried Widowmaker's tone. “This again?”

Fareeha couldn't help but glance her way. It seemed like exhaustion was finally catching up with Widowmaker, her posture stiff, her suit dusty and bloodied from the mostly superficial injuries she'd taken. Her hair still fell loosely around her shoulders and back, straight and limp. It was almost refreshing to see that Fareeha wasn't the only one being run ragged. It was refreshing to see that somewhere beneath that sickly pallor, a heart of a human beat, however slowly.

As misery loved company, Fareeha's own aches and pains reasserted themselves with new vigor at the sight of Widowmaker's. Fareeha kicked her seat back halfway, not fully reclining but as close as she was willing to get. Touching her brow and feeling the knitting skin bisecting one eyebrow, she said, “I’m not asking for your opinion. Just for a phone.”

Next to her, Widowmaker seemed to take a cursory interest. “Comfortable?”

“I’ve had a long day,” Fareeha said. Lying down next to someone like Widowmaker was giving her a dangerous advantage to exploit, and doing it so boldly now must have had the same effect as when Widowmaker had turned her back on Fareeha completely in the safehouse. It said: _I'm not scared of you._

Flashfire irritation bloomed in Widowmaker's expression, one hand falling to the rifle in her lap, but if there was one thing Fareeha had taken from their last encounter, it was that Widowmaker was serious about this alliance, even if it happened to be in her own brusque way. This proclamation wouldn't get Fareeha killed, no matter that it grated at Widowmaker's pride.

Smothering a smug quirk of her lips, Fareeha tipped her head back and closed her eyes. “Anyway, you still need to brief me on what we’re doing. I’m not charging into battle without knowing what our plan is.”

Fighting without her Raptora was pushing it already, her days in the Egyptian Military far behind her.

Widowmaker made a derisive sound. “There will be plenty of time to discuss it on the plane.”

Even if this was the first time Widowmaker had mentioned it, Fareeha had expected they’d be flying - though where Widowmaker was getting a plane was still cause for wonder - because if Talon was targeting Cairo, they had almost half a continent to cover. Still, she wasn’t feeling very keen on moving at Widowmaker’s pace right now.  

“Give me the short version.”

Another scoff and a weighted pause before finally: “I have a source saying the shipment is flying south across Europe.”

“It's going to be hard to catch them if they're flying straight there," Fareeha said. Although... Helix commanded the most extensive radar system in Egypt, not to mention the military's vigilance of unauthorized aircrafts in Egyptian air. After a moment's thought, Fareeha tacked on, "But if they do, Helix will have a decent warning that they're on the way."

“The shipment isn't flying into Egypt. It's not even crossing the Mediterranean by air. Their route predicts they'll land at the southern tip of Spain, cross the gulf there by sea, and then make the rest of the journey by convoy. They’re keeping as far off Helix’s radar as possible, and it will be easier to cross into Egypt undetected by land than air. Talon will want the assault to take Helix by surprise. The more crushing the takeover, the fewer the casualties.”

_And the more left for the serum to convert to toy soldiers._

Fareeha’s mouth flattened into a line, opening her eyes to stare up at the roof of the car. The star-dotted sky raced by through the window to her side, and Fareeha’s thoughts returned to her squad, whether there had been any casualties in the battle in Numbani, whether there would be more…

Finding her voice, she asked, “You think you know a lot about what Talon wants to do. What if you’re wrong?”

“I’ve been with Talon for longer than you’ve been with Helix.” Dismissive, as if the question weren’t even worth the air required for the answer. “I know them. I know how they think, what transportation routes they use, where hundreds of bases are stationed across the globe.”

Now that she’d said it, Fareeha could see why they’d met such extreme resistance from Talon forces. If Widowmaker felt so inclined, she could put that information in the hands of any security force in the world, and Talon would be uprooted at its basest levels until only tatters of the organization remained. And considering how little Widowmaker seemed to value loyalty, Fareeha wagered that if she were offered an enticing enough deal, she might just.

Getting her back - or either silencing her forever - had to be top priority.

Widowmaker sneered. “It’s Talon that doesn’t know _me_. They were foolish to think I'd let anyone control me.”

Fareeha glanced her way, noting the strain on Widowmaker’s expression, the tight pursing of her lips, the knit of her brow. A curious thing to say considering Amélie Lacroix was thought to be brainwashed, her free will stripped away. Yet here she was, fighting for it desperately enough to enlist Fareeha.

It sat poorly with Fareeha, though the uncomfortable itch could have been attributed to any of the myriad of implications those few words held. If Amélie Lacroix had murdered her husband by her own autonomy, had assassinated hundreds more, had bested even Fareeha’s own mother… Fareeha recalled the letter which had come after the reports of Ana Amari’s death, her mother’s words about Amélie: _they made a monster of that sweet girl._

Had even her mother failed to see the deception?

Deciding to make note of it for now - her fingers tightened around the barrel of her own rifle the more she thought of the years her mother might have been played the fool - Fareeha tried to focus on what was before her.

“So we intercept them before they reach Cairo.” Even if there was nothing else they could align upon, the fact that neither wanted Talon anywhere near Cairo was somewhat relieving. “Is this the only stock they’ve made of the serum?”

“I doubt it,” Widowmaker said. “But I have someone working on discovering where any excess might be held. Given another day, she should have a list of every possibility.”

Acquiring a plane and heavy information gathering? Just how many people did Widowmaker know?

Fareeha heaved a sigh. “Let me guess: she owes you a favor.”

“You catch on quick.”

Any other day, the fact that international assassins apparently held some respect for debts owed might have been cause for disbelief. As it was, Fareeha was too exhausted to do more than accept that _favors_ held worth to Widowmaker and her cohorts.

“So once we destroy the serum arriving, it’s just a matter of finding the rest?”

“Not quite.”

There was a noticeable shift in the woman next to Fareeha, like the sudden bristling of a feral animal, all claws and bared teeth. The weariness that had seemed to settle in her limbs like cement dissipated with a fresh flare of energy. The chill in Widowmaker’s voice was palpable, crawling up Fareeha’s spine to settle at the base of her skull, the flesh there prickling. Fareeha’s fingers tightened around the barrel of her rifle by pure instinct even if Widowmaker didn’t move a muscle.

Her black lips curled back. “There is also Ophio.”

That name had come up before. Fareeha mastered the unease creeping in her marrow with a sharp inhale and asked, “The one who created the serum?”

A curt nod. “As long as he is alive, Talon will always be able to create more. He must die.”

Fareeha didn’t have to be a mind-reader to know Widowmaker hungered for this death. Just the mention had her squeezing the wheel, the leather creaking. There was no trace of excitement, no wild revelry like she’d shown when they first fought in Numbani. This had nothing to do with the thrill of ending his life - this was deadly focus, the kind she’d seen her mother don during those late-night calls, the missions that dragged her from bed well past midnight.

The kind that feared what would happen if she didn’t succeed.

That unease returned, but this time the source was obvious: Fareeha had seen Widowmaker in battle, had seen the calm with which she took out each of her adversaries. This was the first time she’d seen fear on her face, even curtained behind narrowed eyes and a set jaw.

If this man Ophio was capable of instilling fear in someone like Widowmaker…

Clearing her throat, Fareeha turned toward the window, the stars winking against the dark sky. “Then he’ll die.”

*

The rest of the ride elapsed in mostly silence.

Widowmaker withdrew into herself, offering nothing, and Fareeha almost regretted putting her seat back. Twice, her lids drooped heavily, the exhaustion in her body weighing her down like a full suit of armor. Both times, it had only been the jolt of the car going over a pothole that kept her from drifting off.

Which was why, when Widowmaker slowed to a crawl and then took a sudden turn off the highway, Fareeha was grateful to have an excuse to set it back up.

Grass and low brush scraped against the underside of the car, and Fareeha glanced Widowmaker’s way. She stared straight ahead, but one hand dropped from the wheel to the ammunition pouch against her thigh - and then retrieved a phone.

Fareeha watched slack-jawed as she punched in a number and then lifted the phone to her ear. After all the times Fareeha had mentioned wanting to get in contact with her unit… Widowmaker must have caught a glimpse of her scowl from the corner of her eye because she turned Fareeha’s way and offered a raised brow and a smile.

The line clicked and her expression faded back into neutrality. “You’re at the coordinates?”

There was a hiss of something on the other side, like a ventilation system was malfunctioning, air forced through with a rough, grating sound. Widowmaker seemed to understand it, but Fareeha could only stare, trying to decipher the meaning behind what she was hearing.

“I’ll be there in two minutes. Get it ready.”

The call disconnected with a beep, and Widowmaker made a move to return the phone to its pouch - only to be caught by the wrist by Fareeha.

Golden eyes glanced her way before returning to the plains stretching before them. “Yes?”

Glaring hard, Fareeha said, “I’m calling my squad.”

Fareeha’s words brokered no arguments, but Widowmaker still sneered, grip not loosening on the phone. “I told you already, Helix isn’t interested in charity - ”

“I’m not asking.”

They rumbled over a rougher patch of ground, and something in the distance caught in the gleam of the car’s headlights. Fareeha could make out its shape with her peripheral vision, but she didn’t tear her eyes away from Widowmaker, whose gaze flickered between her and the form growing larger as they approached.

“Fine,” Widowmaker growled, dropping the phone into Fareeha’s lap and then jerking her hand away. They rolled to a slow stop in front of what looked to be a military grade stealth plane, and Widowmaker threw the car into park. “You’re only wasting your time.”

Fareeha didn’t even bother to respond, a surge of relief washing through her at just the prospect of contact, and Widowmaker, sensing she was being snubbed, made a noise of irritation and began to climb from the vehicle.

It felt like it had been an eternity since Fareeha had spoken with Captain Nassar while overlooking Numbani, much less the rest of her squad. She dialed the number fast as she could only to stop right before she connected the call, her eyes following Widowmaker as she shouldered her rifle and started towards the plane, its hull open and waiting, a bright, sterile light emanating from within. Suddenly she felt at a loss for what she was even going to say, the strangeness of her situation hitting her all at once.

Widowmaker disappeared into the ship, and taking a deep breath, Fareeha hit dial and waited.

Captain Nassar picked up after the second ring. “Yes, hello?”

Fareeha felt herself smile just hearing that impatient tone, almost forgetting just where she was. “Captain Nassar. It’s - ”

“ _Amari?_ ”

“I - yes, it’s me.”

“Holy shit. I was worried - Amari, it’s good to hear your voice.” Captain Nassar’s voice rose, true relief flooding her tone before her no-nonsense personality caught up with her. “Amari, where the _hell_ are you? We’ve had the dogs out looking for you all day. They found your suit, but - ”

“It’s a bit of a long story, ma’am. I’m -” Fareeha paused, the myriad of injuries she was nursing throbbing all at once. “Relatively safe.”

“Relatively? Never mind. You’re in a safe place? What happened with Widowmaker? We thought she might have...”

“Well. About that.”

“About _what_?” Even without seeing her, Fareeha knew the face Captain Nassar was making: stern, prepared to hear the world had just fallen apart on her watch. She remembered the first time she had seen it, when Captain Nassar had just been promoted to fill the space left when Khalil was killed in action at the Temple of Anubis. It had made her wonder if Commander Nassar had it in her to become part of their family, but she'd soon found that her stern manner was tempered by a hidden reserve of empathy, and Fareeha knew that was what now prompted her sharp tone. “Talk, Amari. What in Allah’s name have you gotten yourself into?”

She told her.

Captain Nassar was an excellent listener. She didn’t interrupt or demand to know more when Fareeha glossed over more complicated - and frankly, embarrassing - pieces of the story such as just how Widowmaker had managed to subdue her in Numbani. When she was done, there was a moment of silence which fell between them, broken when Fareeha heard Captain Nassar curse quietly under her breath.

“You need support,” she said.

“Yes,” Fareeha replied.

Captain Nassar swore again. “Alright. Damn, I… I need to send this up to higher. Amari, you said you’re safe right now? Good. Stay that way. I’m going to push this up and call you right back at this number.”

It looked like Widowmaker wasn’t going to be getting her phone back any time soon. There was no doubt she wouldn’t like hearing that, but Fareeha was confident she’d get over it, especially if it meant there was backup on the way. “Yes ma’am.”

A pause. “...Amari?”

“Ma’am?”

“It’s good to hear your voice. Don’t do anything stupid.”

The call disconnected, but Captain’s Nassar’s words lingered as a warmth between Fareeha’s ribs. She was smiling again, hope and fondness mixing. Despite what Widowmaker said, Helix _would_ help.

With that in mind, Fareeha opened the car door and stepped out into the night, her rifle slung, a particular determination in her step. It helped her stand taller, more confident than ever that Talon would not succeed. No matter what kind of craft this was, it would still take hours to get to the northern coast of the continent, and surely by that time, Captain Nassar and the rest of Fareeha’s squad should be mobilizing to join them. The only thing to do was to get a time frame and exact location from Widowmaker and then -

A dark shape stepped from the bright light of the hull’s open door, a full head taller than Widowmaker and dressed in black. Fareeha only snatched a split-second glimpse of it, a bone white mask staring back at her before the figure seemed to dissolve, bleeding into the shadows beyond the light of plane’s hull.

Surprise and shock locked up her joints, and she clutched frantically at her rifle, eyes darting through the darkness.

“ _Behind you._ ”

It was a wheeze, a dying man’s last words, and it was so close that Fareeha could feel the gasp of air on her neck. She spun, no time to think, and smashed the butt of her rifle against the shape materializing behind her. There was a moment of disconnect, like the resistance of hitting the person on their temple wasn’t quite right, but then the shape’s head snapped to the side, the masking flying into the dirt.

The figure held a shotgun, but it snarled like it was choking, clutching its face with one gloved hand. Fareeha leveled her rifle and fired, but it hardly seemed to notice as it lifted its head, eyes burning red. Its face was a thousand grains of sand, all shifting and trying to escape, held together by some magnetism she couldn’t see -

Fareeha's breath caught in her throat, the sight turning her blood to ice, and in the momentary hesitation, it caught her with a heavy boot in the chest.

The force knocked her right off her feet, the ground rushing up beneath her, and before she could recover, that same boot came crushing down on her sternum, the muzzle of a shotgun only centimeters from her face. Yet it wasn’t that her eyes were drawn to - it was the creature above her, each particle of its being clumping together to form something vaguely skeletal, its face gaunt, jaws narrow but full of jagged edges, the burning anger in those eyes like two supernovas, brilliant and consuming.

“ _Oh?_ ”

The sound that emanated from it could barely be considered a voice, its mouth of nightmarish teeth not even moving. Fareeha’s heart pounded against her ribs, the weight of the creature’s boot on her chest making every breath a gasp. The figure’s shotgun fell slightly, finger leaving the trigger.

“She’s with me.”

Widowmaker’s voice cut through the silence, her shadow falling across the two of them, silhouetted by the light of the hull. Rather than concerned, she merely sounded annoyed.

Fareeha couldn’t tear her eyes away from the creature above her, but its gaze flickered from her to Widowmaker, no expression to mark its thoughts. Gradually, it took the weight from her chest, finally stepping off her and turning aside.

“ _You should have told me._ ”

Unmoving, Fareeha watched it find its mask among the dirt, picking it up and affixing it back over its face, little help that it did to calm Fareeha's runaway heartbeat. The click of Widowmaker’s heels against the hull’s lowered ramp finally pulled Fareeha’s gaze away, startled to find the woman standing right over her. Golden eyes flickered down at her as if to say _are you going to stay down there forever?_

With a huff, Widowmaker turned her attention back on the figure. “I thought you would have known. You don’t recognize her?”

_Recognize?_

A beat passed, the glow of those red eyes fixed on Fareeha as she rose to her feet. Then, “ _No._ ”

Widowmaker was a bastion next to Fareeha, her indifference leeching away the fear that still coursed through Fareeha’s veins.  A thought occurred to her: was this the one who had brought them the plane in the first place? Which made this _creature_ one of Widowmaker’s -

"Pity," Widowmaker said, shrugging. Casual, even though she’d seen what was beneath the mask just as Fareeha had. “Either way, I need her alive.”

The figure gave what sounded like a growl, but from the way it hefted its shotgun onto its shoulder and turned its back on the two of them, she got the distinct feeling it wasn’t set on seeing her bleed. “ _Do what you want. We’re even now, Widow - you and Sombra too. Don’t expect us to come after you._ ”

Widowmaker clicked her tongue. “I know how things work.”

At that, the figure made its way to the car they’d come in, dropping its shotgun into the driver’s seat and hesitating on falling in afterwards. Casting a long, lingering look in Fareeha’s direction, it said, “ _Good luck, kid. You’ll need it._ ”

It took her by surprise, but before she could think to respond, the figure ducked into the driver’s side and the engine shuttered to life, the headlights blinding her. Raising a hand to shield her eyes, Fareeha watched as the car reversed and made a two-point turn, rumbling over vegetation and startling creatures from the underbrush.

Beside her, Widowmaker hummed. “I told you - his body is special. No serum could change who or what he is. Nothing less than a miracle could.”

He. A _person_.

Fareeha turned her way, unable to raise her voice above a murmur. “What happened to him? He was…”

_A monster._

“He doesn’t say, though only a truly twisted person could have made him what he is.” Widowmaker's golden eyes following the glimmer of the car’s headlights as they continued back toward the highway. "Perhaps they would have found some kinship in Ophio. He always enjoyed making monsters."

The way her lips curled into a sneer around his name didn't look intentional, and Fareeha had to wonder if there was something more than plain necessity motivating Widowmaker's hunt. Her mother's words flickered through her mind again, and she felt her stomach drop with the implications. _They made a monster of that sweet girl._

Ignorant to the sickness roiling in Fareeha's gut, Widowmaker spun on her heel, taking long strides back to the plane. “Come on. We have a twelve hour flight to prepare for.”

As though she couldn't quite force herself to move, Fareeha could only watch her go, her hair hanging loosely over her shoulders and down her back. Through the parts of her long hair, Fareeha found her eyes drawn to the black spider tattooed across her spine, the cruel, red heart in the center of it staring back at her. Reports of brainwashing had followed Amélie Lacroix's kidnapping, but after what Widowmaker had said earlier, Fareeha had assumed those had been incorrect. Now, if Fareeha was reading between the lines correctly, it sounded like Talon - or Ophio - _had_ done something to Amélie Lacroix. Something comparable to the bestial creature she’d just encountered.

Widowmaker disappeared into the interior of the hull, and Fareeha forced herself to jog after her, trying to decide if bruise-like skin was only the cusp of what had happened to Amélie Lacroix, if the rest couldn't be seen because the proof of it existed only between her temples. 

When Fareeha crested the ramp, she found Widowmaker waiting for her in a small space lined with shelves and boxes. At the center, a motorcycle was strapped down to avoid any shifting during flight. The hull was well organized, which prevented it from feeling too cramped despite obviously not being meant for big transports, but the minute Widowmaker hit a button on the wall, the hull's door began to rise, closing them in.

Bathed in the white, sterile light, Widowmaker looked more ragged than before, her mouth pursed in annoyance. Squinting, she wiped at her brow, crusted blood breaking from her dust-covered skin. She made a face and wiped her hand on her hip, saying, "This way."

The door she was motioning to was clearly labelled _cockpit_ , but Fareeha’s thoughts had returned to Widowmaker herself, the question of just who she was burning at the tip of her tongue. She’d said her alliance with Talon was a convenience, thought their serum was worse than death, had even said - what was it? In Numbani, she’d said -

_My proudest kill - and the one I remember most vividly - was his wife, Amélie._

_Right,_ Fareeha thought, eyeing the woman with new scrutiny. The way she’d referred to herself was confusing to say the least, not to mention the idea that despite having been _killed,_ Amélie Lacroix stood before her now.

 _I have_ much _to thank Gérard for._

“There will be time to gather supplies before we land - for now, we need to get in the air and underway.” Widowmaker set her rifle on a stand by the wall and nodded toward one of the two seats in the cockpit, the panels all displaying a green status, maps pulled up as 3-D projections. “There should be plenty of time to outfit yourself once we're moving.”

Fareeha gave a note of understanding, settling in what she supposed was the co-pilot seat and laying her rifle across the panel in front of it, but her eyes never left Widowmaker. She’d taken her visor off, the red lenses winking in the light of the various instruments from where she’d placed it on one of the panels. Without the visor, she was less of a nightmare escaped into reality. She was more human. 

Hesitation lodged in Fareeha's throat as Widowmaker gestured towards one of the projections which displayed the achingly familiar landscape of the Watchpoint Gibraltar. There was talk of using the abandoned base, of a semblance of a plan, and of a specific manner things had to be done, but Fareeha was was only half-listening. It must have been blatantly obvious because after a moment, Widowmaker stopped talking and directed a glare her way. 

 _"What?"_ Widowmaker demanded, edging on vitriolic. 

It was hard to consider that Widowmaker might have been a victim in this as well, harder still to imagine that if that was the case, Fareeha's animosity towards her might have been misplaced... Or, at least misinformed. Whatever Talon may have done to Amélie Lacroix wouldn't change the fact that the woman before her had killed hundreds of people. But perhaps something could be done to change what she would do in the future. 

Either way, Fareeha needed to know more to understand how to proceed. 

"Amélie," she began slowly. It was impossible to miss the way those golden eyes widened, her whole body tensing. "Just what did Talon do - "

In a blur, Widowmaker moved. 

Impact threw Fareeha from the seat faster than she could react, but when her back hit the ground and sent fresh pulses of pain up her spine, she automatically reached for the weight above her, fingers hooking in long, unbound hair. Cruel hands clamped over her throat, but Fareeha dragged Widowmaker down by the hair with one hand and ripped away her strangling hold with the other. Wrapping her legs around those hips and hooking them at the ankle, Fareeha shifted her grip, not allowing Widowmaker to escape her hold. 

Widowmaker pulled her fist back and slammed it blindly into Fareeha's gut, but Fareeha only sputtered and tensed her abdominals, locking her arm under that thin throat and tugging up in a classic guillotine hold. Unconsciousness could be brought on in seconds, less with a struggle, and Widowmaker twisted and writhed like an animal in a trap, trying to slip away. 

Locked in with Fareeha's legs and arms both, there was no way for her to escape, and Fareeha tightened her grip, all her muscles straining with the effort. 

Gritting her teeth, she snarled, "Give!"

Widowmaker didn't stop, but unlike the last time they'd tumbled across the floor fighting for her sniper rifle, Fareeha hadn't just woken from being heavily drugged this time. Though exhausted, her strength far exceeded Widowmaker's, and no matter how much she thrashed, Fareeha wouldn't let go. Nails dragging against the floor, Widowmaker kicked and fought until the sounds of her choking for air were all that remained of her fight. Her body finally went limp, and it was only then that Fareeha released her. 

With a ragged gasp, she shuddered, limbs twitching. Like she was trying to roll away, she lurched in Fareeha's hold, but found herself stuck because of the strong legs encircling her hips. Scrambling to at least push herself up to prevent another hold, Widowmaker coughed and wheezed, hair curtaining over her face. Pulse racing and high on adrenaline, Fareeha could have strangled her until that cold heart of hers stopped for good, but she settled for returning her grip to dark hair, twisting her fingers in at the base of Widowmaker's head. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Fareeha demanded, ripping her head back so unfocused golden eyes were forced to meet hers.

The slightest flush of color warmed Widowmaker's angular face, a ruddy brown blooming in patches across her cheeks where the rush of blood improved her circulation enough to allow her natural skin tone to return, however briefly. Her black lips were parted as she sucked in desperate breaths, but her brows dipped, some of the haze clearing from her vision. 

"N-never..." Stripped of its musical lilt, her voice was a grating, dry thing. "Never call me t-that."

Her teeth snapped savagely with each words, an enmity she shouldn't have been able to muster oozing from her like black smoke. 

Fareeha didn't understand, but a moment's assessment told her only one thing: Widowmaker wasn't deserving of her pity, was hardly deserving of her partnership. Her heels unhooked, and before Widowmaker could even beat a hasty retreat, Fareeha's boot found her sternum, kicking her away hard enough that her back slammed against the cockpit's wall, her rifle dropping from the stand to clatter to the ground next to her. 

Pushing herself up, Fareeha shot to her feet before Widowmaker could do the same, an accusing finger pointed down at the woman who was currently clutching her throat in pain. Fareeha's other hand was pinned to her side, her balled fist shaking with anger. "

"Put your hands on me again," Fareeha snarled. "And this alliance is over."

If she had to fight Talon alone, it would have been better than being forced to keep checking whether Widowmaker was about to lash out like a feral dog. Changed or not, Widowmaker was a threat, and if she refused to bring herself to heel, she was better off in chains - or worse. 

Widowmaker stared up at Fareeha, her breathing beginning to slow, the patches of color on her face fading back to a sickly purple. The scuffle had reopened one of the cuts above her brow, the blood trickling down in a slow bead, and that long hair hung loosely around her face, disheveled as the rest of her. Unexpectedly, her legs pulled up, almost defensely, and she didn't try to rise, instead reaching for the rifle and aiming up at Fareeha. 

All her will seemed to go into making her voice come strong and steady. _"Never_ call me that again. I'm not her."

It didn't make sense, and that only made Fareeha angrier, but she couldn't figure out how to respond with the roar of her heartbeat in her ears. She wanted answers, wanted to wring them from her throat, but the only thing she could envision was how easy it would be to squeeze too hard, for the bones in her neck to snap beneath all the injustices Fareeha had suffered by her hand. All the injustices others had suffered by her hand. 

With Widowmaker's muzzle trained on her, her golden eyes narrowed, Fareeha knew she couldn't trust herself to proceed, didn't even know if there was any point to it after all. Grounding her teeth, she whirled on her heel and stormed through the door to the hull, letting the door slam shut behind her.

 


End file.
